


The Superiority of the Lion

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Courtship, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Madeleine Era, Mating Bites, Montreuil-sur-Mer, Pushy Bottoms, Sex Pollen, Size Kink, Spirit Animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Custom demanded that the mayor wine and dine him; well, Javert would submit to that, as he would to all else, although he did not have to like it. A police spy shouldn’t sup in the officer’s café, and surely even as the mayor’s dog his place was on the floor, and not at the man’s table.





	The Superiority of the Lion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iberiandoctor (jehane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/gifts).



_“I hereby require the Inspector’s presence at the officers’ café at 7 in the evening today.”_

The letter on Javert’s desk had been read many times since it had arrived early in the morning. Javert knew every single word by heart. Even now, instinct made him reach out to smooth the paper: a nervous habit, and one Javert forbade himself as he stared at the letter.

There were certain customs that bound together the heart of a town—its mayor—and its arm. Newly sent to the town of Montreuil-sur-Mer on his first post as an inspector of the police, Javert had become the arm of the law in this town, for Montreuil did not have a Commissaire, whose duty it would have been to bind himself to the mayor in a tradition both official and intimate.

It was not an event Javert had foreseen when his patron had procured him this post. Or rather, the thought might idly have occurred to him, only to vanish beneath the multitude of things that took up his attention on any given day.

In truth, it was an event he would not have deemed of great importance; custom demanded it, and in any case, to submit himself to a superior not only in word but also deed was hardly an event that would cause Javert concern.

What had caused him concern, ever since he had arrived in the town two days ago, was the mayor.

M. Madeleine, who ran the local factory and whose name had made it even to the ears of Javert’s patron, did not invoke in Javert the natural instinct of the dog to submit to its master.

Instead, the man roused a different instinct within him, Javert’s hackles rising as if the beast within him had scented the stink of the wolf beneath the man’s lambswool coat.

Which was impossible. M. Madeleine was well regarded; he was above all suspicion.

Nevertheless, the beast within Javert would not rest since he had set foot within the town.

And now—now the summons had come. Now he, Javert, was supposed to dine with the mayor, the eyes of the town upon him—and then retire with the mayor, and, in a more intimate setting, swear himself to the man who made the dog within him snarl, offering up obedience, devotion, and loyalty of his soul and his body for the good of the town.

Again Javert’s eyes came to rest on the letter. It was well written, every letter impeccable. Surely it could not be. This was not the bold scrawl of those beasts he had once guarded in the bagne. The words were written in fine, dark ink and on expensive paper, the letter sealed with the mayor’s seal when it had arrived this morning.

Javert forced himself to turn away from his desk rather than reach out for the letter again. His eyes fell upon the clock. There were two hours left. Two hours… And then?

He could not refuse. Impossible. He needed to submit. He had to submit—or give up his post.

Clenching his teeth, Javert sprang up from his chair and began to pace. Impossible. Impossible to give up the position it had taken him so long to achieve. Impossible to disappoint Chabouillet.

What were his suspicions, in any case? To suspect the owner of a factory, an elector, a magistrate—was that not a crime in itself, and greater than any crime Javert had thought himself capable of?

No. He could not rebel against a magistrate, no more than he could have rebelled against Authority itself. No matter what rebellious part within him wanted to bare his teeth at Madeleine, Javert knew his duty, and he would surrender to everything custom asked of him. Should a police spy now spit at the offered hand of a magistrate? Impossible.

Javert had to serve, and he would serve. There was no question about it.

***

The mayor was already seated when Javert arrived. He was, Javert saw with a certain satisfaction, ill at ease, not unlike a thief found at the site of his crime.

Javert forced back the thought, shame rising up at harboring such ideas about a magistrate, at the same time as the beast within him bared its teeth once more at the sight of the mayor’s vulnerable neck wrapped in a silken cravat.

The officer’s café was the best establishment in town, where the captain of the garrison was wont to dine, and where men who owned fine houses whiled away their afternoons.

Now, it opened its doors for Javert, who knew that he had no place in such an establishment, and who nevertheless was forced to take his seat at the mayor’s table, where plates were already laid out, candles lit, and a goblet of gold awaited.

“In the old days, it was done with more ceremony. Or so I am told,” Madeleine said. There was no smile on his lips, although Javert could make out a slight flush on his cheeks. “In truth I prefer it this way, and I thought you might not mind.”

“As you prefer,” Javert said stiffly, his neck burning at the eyes upon him.

In truth, he preferred it this way as well—the wooing public, if it could be called that, yet not quite as humiliating as to have it out in the open, in the square before Saint-Saulve perhaps, or the market.

“Shall we begin then?” Madeleine looked relieved when a waiter immediately hurried towards them. “Would you like a—”

“You order for me, monsieur,” Javert said with as much dignity as he could summon. 

“Of course,” Madeleine said after a heartbeat, smiling at the waiter.

Javert had to keep himself from clenching his hands into fists at the sight.

The food, in any case, did not truly matter. Custom demanded that the mayor wine and dine him; well, Javert would submit to that, as he would to all else, although he did not have to like it. A police spy shouldn’t sup in the officer’s café, and surely even as the mayor’s dog his place was on the floor, and not at the man’s table.

Nevertheless, he ate what was placed before him: a soup, trout from this morning’s catch right out of the Canche, a filet of veal, a dessert of rich, sweet chocolate, and cheese to nibble on.

There was wine to go with the menu. The mayor had chosen an old Mauves wine—and this, their waiter poured into the waiting goblet of gold that stood between them.

There was only the one goblet. It was meant to be shared.

Javert knew that, and yet he could not help the strange shiver of excitement that ran through him as he watched Madeleine reach out for it for the first time. Was that a light tremor in his hand?

“To the prosperity of this town, and future years of peace.”

Madeleine’s voice was not shaking. He was smiling again as he raised the goblet to his lips. Had Javert just imagined the trembling of his fingers?

Then Madeleine took a sip, his head tilting back, and a jolt ran through Javert, for the motion had bared a sliver of skin at the mayor’s throat, the white silk of his cravat revealing a finger’s breadth of vulnerable skin. All of the sudden the dog within Javert was snarling again, straining to fly forward and clench his jaws around the bared throat.

Furious and humiliated, Javert forced the beast down, heat rushing to his own face. Could Madeleine see the disobedience of his spirit? Was the man aware of the taint of rebellion within Javert’s very soul?

Javert took the goblet without a word of thanks, barely able to suppress a flinch when his fingers touched those of the mayor. Without thinking, he lifted it to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of the wine. It burned as it went down his throat; he barely tasted it, although he was certain that it was finer by far than any wine he had ever tasted. All he was left with was a hint of oak on his tongue, together with a strange bitterness at the back of his throat.

He would not be sick, he told himself, mechanically eating the veal, barely tasting the rich juices. It would happen as it had to happen. He would do his duty. He would show the mayor nothing but the courtesy that was his due.

“You are content with retiring to my home for the evening?” Madeleine asked, with just the slightest hesitation before his final word.

Javert bit back a bitter laugh. Content! As if that had a part in their duty. No, and he was under no illusion that the mayor was content with his lot either. Still, both of them served society in their own way, and both would play their part.

“Of course, monsieur,” he said a little curtly, then reached out for the goblet again, swallowing down his inner beast’s protests.

The thing within him would be leashed soon enough, as it should be. They would follow the dictates of custom and decorum, and all would be as it should be.

This time, the bitterness lingered at the back of his throat. Determined, Javert took another gulp, then surrendered the goblet to Madeleine, who turned it, then touched his lips to where Javert’s had rested and drank deeply as well, a flush on his cheeks.

A strange excitement thrummed through Javert, and it took him a moment to realize, horrified, that it was arousal.

Base desire had rushed through his veins at the sight, filling his body with heat. Uncomfortably, he shifted, then was saved from further embarrassment by the dessert, served by the waiter who refilled their goblet again.

It was difficult to look at Madeleine now. For some unfathomable reason, Javert was hard, his prick straining against the wool of his trousers, safely hidden beneath the tablecloth. Even the snarling of the dog in his mind had dimmed, the animal suspicion overcome by an even older, deeper instinct.

Javert swallowed, suddenly furiously embarrassed, feeling completely out of his depth—more so than he already felt in the luxurious surroundings of the officer’s club.

Where did this need come from?

As he stared at Madeleine, who had tried a first spoonful of the chocolate cake, the heat within Javert increased, the throbbing between his legs like the terrible pulse of a wild beast. The dog within his breast no longer snarled; instead, the animal was eager to roll to his belly in surrender.

Mechanically, Javert reached out for his own spoon. He barely tasted the richness of the dark chocolate on his tongue; all he could feel was the roar of his pulse in his ears, the beating of his heart like that of a caged animal.

Once or twice, their eyes met; every time, Javert hastily lowered his eyes, gritting his teeth to force the beast in him back down while between his legs, his body ached relentlessly with a strange, alien hunger for the event that was to come.

“Enough,” he finally forced out, dropping his spoon.

The sound of it hitting his plate made him flinch, the café falling silent all around him. Further heat rose to Javert’s cheeks; even so, he could not think of anything but the way Madeleine had paused, staring now at him with an answering color in his cheeks.

After a long moment, Madeleine nodded. “Perhaps it’s time to retire for the evening.”

Was that a hint of breathlessness Javert detected in his voice? The thought was so satisfying that Javert rose without thought to the state of his trousers. Only Madeleine’s deepening flush reminded him of the chafing of his hard prick against the coarse wool. He ground his teeth, staring straight ahead and ignoring the insolent eyes of the waiter as they drew on their coats.

What did it matter, after all, if Montreuil’s electors saw him in such a state? Javert was but an agent of the police, serving a superior according to custom, upholding the rules that governed society. He had no place in this café, and the men knew it as well as he himself did. There was only one reason for why Javert had been made to dine here, and once that duty was fulfilled, they would speak of it no more. In time, it would become nothing but a faded, unpleasant memory, the dog within him securely leashed by the hand of the magistrate.

They did not talk as they made their way to the mayor’s house. Javert was grateful that his greatcoat hid his state; the same was true for Madeleine, who wore a coat of thick, brown wool. Not a glimpse could be spied of the state of his body.

It was not until Madeleine was forced to take off his coat when they entered his house that Javert received his answer. Madeleine had been silent—but only, it seemed, to hide the state of his own trousers, the bulge large and firm. For a moment, Javert forgot himself, staring at it with a sudden, fierce hunger as the beast within him growled.

Madeleine had seen his gaze, for the man flushed again when Javert raised his eyes.

“You must forgive me,” Madeleine now murmured, certainly with more embarrassment than was appropriate for a man of his standing. “I did not think to ask—I had not been required before, you see, the old inspector was—“

Madeleine broke off and swallowed, at the same time as a fierce amusement rose within Javert. Could it be true that the mayor had never bound another to his will? Had the man never received a subordinate’s surrender, firmly taking hold of the leash of another man’s soul?

Madeleine cleared his throat, sweat gleaming on his brow as he made himself meet Javert’s eyes. “What I mean to say is, I believe that someone might have added something to the goblet.”

“Something?”

“An, ah. Stimulant,” Madeleine said, as delicate as possible in the face of such sordidness.

Javert bared his teeth, laughing soundlessly even as his prick throbbed in his trousers. “Of course. Doubt arose whether the mayor would find enough interest to succeed in binding a police spy to the land. A gallant thing to do, I am certain. I should be grateful.”

In truth, he was furious—not at the elector who had thought this a good jest, or had perhaps indeed considered it a helpful thing to do, enabling the beloved mayor to mount the new blackguard of a police spy.

Javert was furious because his surrender was to be his own. Yes, it would have been a distasteful, perhaps even humiliating thing—but where was the worth in rolling to his belly or showing his throat when the act was forced?

Madeleine raised a hand to his head. They were so close that Javert could see the trembling of his fingers, which simultaneously infuriated and pleased him.

It seemed wrong that the mayor should feel reluctant about this, when it was Javert, after all, who made the sacrifice, and Madeleine who could safely laugh about it all in the officer’s café on the morrow.

Still, a part of Javert that was all animal could not help but feel a fierce, humiliated satisfaction, even though the ache of his swollen prick made it almost impossible to think now.

Madeleine swallowed again. “Javert, we need not do this. Some other time—or, if you are not amenable at all, there is no need to—“

“There is!” Javert nearly hissed, the fury within him at last breaking free with a violence that astounded him, for he found himself pressed against the mayor, his hands gripping the man’s coat, and the man in turn pressed against the wall.

“There is,” he repeated a little calmer a moment later, although he found that he could not move back. The pounding hardness between his legs was pressed against a similar tumescence, the mayor’s manhood stiff and immense as it bulged the man’s fine trousers.

A groan escaped Javert’s throat, the dog within whimpering. Without thought he clenched his fingers tighter around the mayor’s coat, pressing his hips into Madeleine’s until the burn of need between his legs turned into a fire.

“Wait,” Madeleine gasped a moment later, his own hands coming to rest on Javert’s arms.

They held him gently, Javert noted—gently even when Javert kept blindly rutting against the mayor, the upstanding citizen, the bourgeois who owned a factory, and who was yet obscenely swollen in his trousers and could not even bring himself to raise a hand against Javert’s crude assault.

Javert bared his teeth again, this time in a snarl, tearing himself away from the man.

“Where do you want it?” He was panting for breath, his heart hammering in his chest. Whatever they had made them drink, it had run its course through his blood, setting his nerves on fire, churning in his stomach, impeding his vision until it seemed that he was seeing through a haze of red that pulsed in time with the unbearable throb of the pulse in his swollen prick.

“Javert, this isn’t—there’s no need to make it into something ignoble,” Madeleine said, his brow still damp with sweat. The touch of his hand was light and deliberate, and hateful to Javert just for that. “I didn’t know they would use this—we can take our time. I have prepared a bed. Sleep this off, and we can—“

“It has to be now,” Javert said relentlessly, laughing into Madeleine’s face. “Wait? What for? We both know what we’re here for. And your body wants it, you cannot deny it, monsieur. Have it then. Take what you want. I am yours.”

Again Madeleine’s hand trembled where it rested on his arm—and then it tightened, the man having come to a decision.

“Then let it happen,” he said, his voice soft and almost resigned. “If it must, I promise I will make it easy for you. As easy as I can.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Javert snarled, but went where he was led, straight into the man’s fabled bedroom, which was indeed, Javert saw to his disappointment, not the grotto the gossips of the town had anticipated, but a sparse, drab bedroom with little decoration.

No matter. There was a bed with white sheets, and a washing stand with a basin of water and linen.

There was too, he saw, a small bowl of oil by the bed, and another bottle of wine.

Javert chuckled hoarsely, even though the beast that had taken hold of his desire had begun to pant at the sight of the bed.

“Your housekeeper must have been mistaken about the status of the man you were to bind to yourself,” he said. “What’s this—wine, oil that smells of roses, soft sheets, all for that blackguard Javert? Come now, monsieur, let’s have no dishonesty in this. I am your servant, you know that. I am little better than a police spy, even now, newly risen to this position—did you know that I was an adjutant-guard in the bagne of Toulon, that my mother was—“

“Never mind,” Madeleine said hastily, his face flushed. “Javert, you are mistaken, I would not—“

“I am not some bourgeois gentleman you need to woo, monsieur,” Javert continued relentlessly, “and we both know that this is but for the benefit of the town. Lead me into your office; I shall bend over your desk, and you can do as you please to finish this business, I shall not—“

“Please be silent, Javert,” Madeleine said, not unkindly, but there was at last a hint of authority in his voice. His cheeks were still flushed, his eyes dark and fevered.

“You are not—whatever you might think of me, I do not engage in gossip. Nothing that happens in here will leave this room. I swear this, Javert.”

Javert laughed again, although now a hint of uncertainty had entered into the turmoil of his heart.

He flinched back when Madeleine reached out another hand. Instead, his own fingers went to the fastening of his coat, and he cursed softly under his breath when his trembling fingers encountered an unforeseen difficulty in opening it. Pointedly, he did not look at Madeleine; instead he drew off his coat, and then his cravat and shirt. At last, his fingers went to the fastening of his trousers.

His prick was still aching steadily, obscenely swollen as if some terrible infection had taken hold of him. It throbbed inside him like poison with every beat of his heart until the pulse in his prick overwhelmed all thought.

A hoarse groan escaped Javert as he allowed his trousers to drop to the ground, his swollen shaft freed at last. He clenched his teeth against the wave of need that made him want to throw himself down at the mayor’s feet. Instead, deliberate, he moved to the bed and spread himself out there, another groan escaping him at the way his arousal slid against the white sheets.

Then, for a long moment, there was no sound but the thunder of his pulse in his ears. When he at last turned his head, he found Madeleine staring at him. The man had also shrugged off his coat and waistcoat. Now, he stood before Javert in his shirtsleeves, the white linen billowing around his arms and broad shoulders. As Javert watched, Madeleine’s hands went to his trousers.

It was gratifying to see the man’s eyes close for a moment, a gasp escaping him as he unfastened the buttons.

And then, at last, the trousers dropped to the floor and Madeleine stepped free of them.

The mayor’s erection was tenting his shirt. Javert’s mouth went dry, for even the shirt could not hide the sheer size of it.

How did it look? How would it feel?

He licked his lips, struggling to think of anything but of what was to come, the wine’s poison thick and bright like honey in his veins. Every beat of his heart made him burn until he was certain that he would die in flames if the mayor did not claim him as was his right.

When Madeleine did not move, Javert gritted his teeth again. Did the man have to make everything so difficult?

“Come now,” he snapped, barely able to keep from panting when his eyes found the outline of the mayor’s prick beneath the loose linen again. “Let’s not draw this out. It is for the good of the town, and I will not have it said that I did not willingly surrender to a magistrate, as is the custom.”

Madeleine started, as if Javert’s address had drawn him out of some dream. For a moment, his hands flexed as though instinct bade him reach out for something—but whatever it was, Madeleine caught himself in time and at last came forward towards Javert.

His thighs were broad and strong, lightly covered with hair that was yet dark. Javert could see the dark shadow of Madeleine’s erect shaft through the white shirt.

And then, right in front of Javert’s eyes, Madeleine rucked up his shirt, and the massive manhood was displayed in its full glory.

A deep groan escaped Javert’s chest as he stared at it, taking in every detail with a greed he could no longer control: the foreskin drawn back to display the already slick crown, the shaft so firm with blood it curved towards the mayor’s stomach, the sheer width of it, which was only surpassed by the impressive length—and the way it now jerked, anther bead of wetness appeared at the tip, when Madeleine dipped his fingers into the bowl of oil and smoothed it all over his arousal until it stood firm and ready to do its task.

The mayor’s hands were strangely hesitant when they came to rest on Javert’s hips, but he paid it no heed. What did Javert care whether the mayor was a stranger to this deed, or whether even the poisoned wine could not overcome all the natural revulsion a man of his position must feel at the presence of a police spy in his bed?

But the deed had to be done, no matter how distasteful to both of them. Javert raised himself to his hands and knees with an eagerness entirely caused by the poisonous heat in his blood.

“Finish it.” The words escaped him as little more than a growl.

In return, he could feel Madeleine flinch. Was that bizarre reaction brought forth by the bark of his voice? Yet what reason had a magistrate to fear the command of an agent of the police?

Then Madeleine came forward. His hips pressed against Javert’s thighs, the engorged shaft pressing against Javert’s behind, and the thought slipped from Javert’s mind as the heat within him rose up once more.

“I do not intend to—I won’t use you ungently; you may stop me at any time,” Madeleine forced out, his voice strangely uncertain despite his labored breathing.

Javert snarled, pushing back against him so that the mayor’s oiled erection slid against his crease.

“Finish it, I say!”

“As you wish,” Madeleine gasped, his hands trembling against Javert’s hips.

For a moment, he did not move, and the arousal churning in Javert’s stomach turned into dread at the thought that the mayor might force his surrender by making him beg for it. A churlish thing—but Javert knew he would offer up even that in his despair.

And then, a heartbeat later, the mayor’s hands clenched around his hips, and that impressive erection was brought to his hole and pressed forward.

A whine escaped Javert’s throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

The mayor had been generous with the oil; despite the man’s size, Javert could not have resisted the penetration even had he wanted to. The oiled length forced him open easily, relentlessly, the stretch aching until the burn of it was almost as bad as the burn of the poison in his veins. Even so, Javert panted through it, forcing himself to relax—and the mayor’s shaft slid into him, spreading him open in such a way that Javert arched his back, a surprised groan escaping him when the pressure sent heat racing along his spine.

Dimly, he could hear Madeleine’s panting now. Why had that cursed man stopped?

“Javert, are you all right? We can go more slowly—“

With a growl of fury, Javert dug his fingers into the sheets and pushed backwards, impaling himself on the mayor’s large length despite the protest of his aching muscle. Even now, despite the burn of being penetrated, there was a horrible pleasure in it, the pressure within making him pant for breath as heat filled his veins.

“Move,” he barked. “Finish it, monsieur. I am yours, willingly. What more do you want?”

For a moment, Madeleine was silent, as if surprised by his words. Then, at last, blessedly, he began to move. With thrust after thrust he buried himself inside Javert, forcing Javert’s body to surrender to his claim—and Javert in turn groaned in pained triumph, ecstasy rising in his blood with every thrust.

And was it not to be expected that a man like him should find pleasure in such surrender? His unfounded suspicions aside, it was only natural to submit to a magistrate—this, more than anything, was a sign of who and what he was, and a truth he would not forget.

Madeleine was still panting as well, hot huffs of air breathed against Javert’s neck. The sensation was excruciating, the beast within Javert aching to offer up its throat to its master, to beg to be subdued. And meanwhile every thrust made Javert’s fingers curl into the sheets, his back arching as he pushed back for more, ignoring the soreness of his body because he needed more, needed it deeper, harder…

All of Madeleine’s earlier reticence was forgotten, the mayor’s refinement falling away as the poison and the heat within their blood rose until they were coupling like animals in heat. The mayor’s powerful loins slammed into him as Javert was made to take the entirety of the mayor’s proud manhood again and again. The sensation made him cry out, and as he writhed, held firmly within surprisingly strong arms, the pleasure within rose and rose until it seemed unbearable. Still those muscled thighs kept pounding into him, slamming right into the spot that forced burst after burst of agonizing pleasure from Javert, the beast within him whining for release.

And then, at last, Madeleine stiffened. His hips kept pumping into him, the motion now shallow and jerky, although the effect on Javert was much the same. The mayor’s release filled him with spurt after spurt. Javert groaned, grinding himself back down onto the man’s hard length without shame, little better than a filthy animal in truth now, his balls so full and tight that every time the mayor slammed into him, the man’s heavy scrotum hitting his own, Javert wanted to cry out.

It was too much—and it still was not enough. Trapped, Javert writhed like a pinned animal, receiving his superior’s pleasure while he was held balanced on a knife-edge.

And then the mayor’s mouth found his bared neck, and teeth grazed his skin.

With a howl of agony, Javert spilled himself in ecstatic spurt after spurt as the mayor bit down hard enough to draw blood. Javert was still impaled on the massive manhood; now he trembled, his release forced from him by a power beyond his own, groaning in ecstasy as the mayor’s teeth pierced his skin.

All words and thought were gone from Javert’s mind. For a long moment, he was reduced to nothing but the beast at the heart of him, the feral mutt who had learned obedience and how to serve his betters in the bagne of Toulon from his earliest years on. That dog now hung limp in surrender, his throat bared in surrender—and the jaws that had clenched around him were not those of a wolf, as Javert had sometimes suspected in his darkest moments, but those of a lion.

Trembling, overwhelmed, the mayor’s release hot inside him, Javert relaxed, giving himself up to the powerful limbs that embraced him. The bite was painful—but even so, as he hung in the mayor’s grasp, still impaled, surrounded by the man’s animal musk, there was a strange sort of peace in the white-hot agony of it. The mayor’s lips were hot against his skin, feeling strangely soft. Madeleine had bit down hard, with none of the earlier reticence, the animal within him at last breaking free—an animal so masterfully controlled that no one in the town had known what the mayor harbored in his breast.

But now that puzzle, too, had been solved, and Javert accepted the penance fate had forced on him.

The bite ached, but even so, something within Javert clung to that pain until at last, the ecstasy of their coupling began to wane. Pride made him hold himself up in surrender instead, willing to bear this for as long as the mayor chose.

The beast that had claimed him was proud as well, a majestic lion crouched tall and powerful above him. It should not have surprised him, Javert thought dimly, no, he should have known. A magistrate, a superior, the mayor of this town and owner of a large factory—no, such a man could not be a wolf. 

Instead, it was a rare lion who had mounted and subdued Javert, and despite the shameful suspicions, he could be at rest now. No matter how they might laugh in the officer’s café, it had been accomplished. He had surrender himself, the mayor had accepted his surrender, the arm of the law was tied to the heart of authority itself, and the dog within him firmly leashed to its new master.

There was pride in that surrender, and pride in knowing his place.

Javert groaned again when Madeleine at last withdrew from him. Despite the copious oil, Javert was sore—but that was satisfying too, filling him with a pleasing awareness of the sacrifice he had brought.

Everything was as it should be. The dog had rolled to its belly and bared its throat, the lion had mounted, proving its mastery over Javert, and even when the bite sealing the contract healed, there would remain a scar Javert would bear with pride, just as he wore his uniform.

He felt the tugging of that new leash on his mind as he rose, testing it carefully.

Even now, there was a part of him that snarled, hackles rising—but he viciously forced it down, the bit at his neck throbbing in a reminder of his submission. Perhaps this was a fault in him, then, a reminder of the worthlessness of the beast within him, which only through constant vigilance could be kept chained and in servitude.

Javert forced himself to face Madeleine before he dressed, testing that new chain between them in satisfaction as a part of the creature within him snarled but then fell silent, whimpering in surrender.

The mayor was still on the bed, breathless and exhausted, strands of his hair sticking to his face. Only now did Javert realize in surprise that he had never taken his shirt off, which preserved his modesty even now.

And yet a magistrate surely had the right to modesty when mounting a mere police spy, especially one with such an unworthy, feral beast within his breast.

At another time, perhaps, the sight of the shirt covering the powerful body would have raised an alarm. But now, with the bite still burning at his throat and his body still sore from the man’s mastery, that old instinct was satisfyingly silent, nothing remaining in Javert’s soul but the quiet, total surrender of the dog to its leash.

In any case, he had no need to see the mayor naked. The mere thought was scandalous—to harbor such suspicions of a magistrate!

No, Javert had received his answer when the man had mounted him effortlessly, proving the superiority of the lion over the dog, and Javert would not allow the beast within him to doubt again.

A lion. A lion, when half the town had gossiped about a bear in the mayor’s breast. But Javert knew the truth now, and he would not allow himself to fail again. It seemed impossible now that once, he should have seen the wolf in the man’s features.

No, everything was as it should be. The mayor’s creature was a noble animal, the rite itself had been accomplished, Javert had been claimed and bound to this town, and he would bow to the chains placed on him until the day he died.

“I will take my leave now, monsieur,” he said and bowed deeply.

The chain around his soul tightened for a moment, holding him in place, as if the mayor had decided to test the truth of what they had done. For a moment, Javert felt a flicker of emotion fill his heart: exhaustion, pleasure—and a deep confusion.

Then the sensation was gone, the chain suddenly relaxed, and Javert hurried to dress himself.

He could not say what reason the mayor had to feel confusion, but he knew that it was not his right to question him. The mayor might hold the chain—but it was to leash Javert, and not the other way around.

Javert bowed deeply, not allowing himself to raise his eyes to catch a last, guilty glimpse of the potent manhood. Then he left, the beast within him quiet, tightly leashed, Javert’s breast filled only with the fierce satisfaction of an unpleasant task accomplished at last.


End file.
